One Year
by Valkyrium
Summary: Chemistry alone is not enough, sometimes True Love is all about the timing. Emma arrives into town a whole year earlier, unaware of her link to Henry, and this alters her relationship with the Mayor, but that's not the only change she brings with her arrival. Something underneath the town has awoken, no longer trapped by the dark curse, and it is hungry for revenge.


**Prologue:**

_The love of a father._

* * *

The cries of the dying soldiers and the sounds of steel clashing against steel that ring so loudly in the gardens of the White Castle are barely audible in its towers and upper levels, protected as they are by thick walls of stone, and that's something for which James is deeply grateful as he slowly makes his way upwards through a long set of stairs, determined to reach the highest point of the Central tower as soon as possible.

Located on the very heart of the White Castle, the Central tower was designed to serve as a last bastion of defense against any invading army that dared to attack, and it's filled with magical passages that only the members of the Royal family can access, all of them meant to lead any survivors to safety, while its long sets of winding stairs and narrow corridors provide the castle guards with an effective fighting ground to cover their retreat.

It was supposed to be a flawless means of escape.

_Sadly_, James thinks as he pushes off the wall that supported his unsteady climb up the latest set of stairs, _not even the genius architect that designed this castle, nor the fairies that aided him, could have created a way to outrun _this_ particular threat_.

But even if escaping is the last thing on his mind, James still needs to reach the top of that tower. Each new step is a battle for the young man, the wound on his left shoulder—a deep nasty looking gash that's still seeping blood—and the stress of the past few hours have sapped most of his strength, and even the fit state of his body is barely enough to help him keep moving forward.

For the last few minutes, he hasn't even had the strength that's needed to hold his left arm up, and now the sword in his hand trails down the corridor beside him, scratching the floor at his side with each new step he takes, and leaving a trail of blood in his wake as it drips from the wound on his shoulder and down his arm at an alarming rate.

There's no doubt in his mind that he won't be able to survive the wound if he can't manage to get some kind of medical attention soon, but he also knows that there's no time left for that.

There's no time left for anything.

So, even when he has never felt more tired in his entire life, has never been so willing to simply let go and surrender, he keeps walking at a steady pace and holds his right arm firm, because it's also true that he has never had a more compelling reason to keep on fighting than he does now.

Said reason chooses that moment to squirm a bit inside the cradle that's formed by his arm and chest, letting out a soft cry of protest and doing her best to burrow deeper into his embrace, a move that makes his heart tighten with a love so strong that it brings tears to his eyes.

"Shh, it's okay, love," James whispers softly, bringing his left hand up to tuck the white blanket that Granny spent so much time knitting a little closer to his daughter's body. The weight of the sword is forgotten in his need to comfort his fragile little girl. "Everything's going to be okay, I...I"

The words get caught in his throat, and a silent sob runs through his body. There's so much that he wants to say...

He would love to have the time to beg for her forgiveness—she's so new to this world and he has already failed to protect her—and maybe even apologize for the impossibly large expectations that his whole kingdom has placed on her young shoulders. Take the time to profess his love for her a thousand times to make up for all those moments where he won't be there to say the words, and above all, use the chance to explain to her that this is not how he wanted things to end.

Tell her that there's an evil witch hunting her, simply because of whom her parents are, and that she has forced his hand.

That it's the Evil Queen's fault that he has to do this.

But they're running out of time. The silence of the corridor has already been shattered by the loud roar of a wild wind that's rattling the windows of the castle with unnatural strength.

It won't be long now.

With a last burst of his newly found strength, James runs the final stretch of corridor, opening the door at the end with a well placed kick and hurrying to the middle of the room to kneel beside the beautiful wardrobe that serves as center piece of the room that was supposed to be his daughter's nursery.

It's a magnificent piece of furniture, carved out of the rest of the last magical tree in existence; it represents perfectly the blend of the natural shape of the tree and the expert hands of the master craftsman that built it, something that's mostly displayed in the intricate design of its doors.

Much more than a simply esthetic decision, those double doors serve as a guide for the magic inside the wood, directing the subject to the right world among the thousand that exist, but the King is blind to their beauty, and he hardly spares them more than a single glance as he unlocks them.

James can't tear his eyes away from the baby in his arms.

_This is the right thing to do_, he repeats to himself over and over again, a mantra that he can't bring himself to truly believe. _This is her best chance_.

His arms shake uncontrollably when he finally lowers his baby daughter to the bottom of the wardrobe, leaning down to place a last kiss to her forehead with tear stained eyes and offering a silent prayer for her, so young and already destined to be the Savior of them all, no matter how small and fragile she looks right now.

Oh, how he hopes that it's worth it.

"Find us, Princess," James mutters as he finally stands up, giving the sleeping baby a last, long look before closing the doors and securing the latch. "We love you."

Once the doors are closed, the king takes a step back and stares at them, not quite believing what he just did, and waiting for something to happen. Anything. Maybe a burst of light or a sound that lets him know that the spell worked, but there's only silence.

A minute passes, then two, and just when he's about to pry the doors open and pick up his daughter that he both fears and hopes is still in there, a couple of black clad soldiers burst into the room with their swords raised.

James snarls in defiance as he turns to face them.

He's in no shape to fight the Evil Queen's guards—not with the way the weight of his sword makes his arm tremble—but he will be damned if he lets them get to the wardrobe without a fight, so he raises his sword through sheer stubbornness and manages to parry the first couple of blows that come his way, even going so far as to gather the strength he needs to attempt a few strikes of his own, but it's not long before the barrage of blows from his attackers break his meager defense, and the dark blade of one of them pierces his stomach, sending him crashing to the ground with a broken gasp.

For a few seconds, the King is not aware of anything but pain, white dots dancing in front of his eyes and ears ringing, but soon the sound of the soldiers smashing their swords against the wardrobe brings him back to the present, and he watches with trepidation as the latch falls open under their blows.

The wardrobe, however, is empty. The Princess got away.

"What now?" the first guard mutters to his companion as he glares at the wardrobe.

The second guard, the one that stabbed James, lets out a string of colorful curses before kicking the doors with fury. "We let the Queen know what happened here and hope she doesn't decide to chop our heads off, that's what."

"And what about him?" The first guard gestures towards the crumbled figure of the King that's watching them with a pained, lopsided grin.

No matter what they decide to do with him, they can no longer get to Emma, and that's reason enough for him to smile.

"Leave him be, the Queen doesn't care about him and he'll bleed to death on his own soon enough anyway. We have better things to do." With a final curse, the guard rushes out of the room closely followed by his companion, leaving James alone once more.

"Ho-how nice of the-them," James chokes out, swallowing down the blood that's starting to pool inside his mouth and doing his best to keep his breathing calm and steady.

If he can somehow manage to remain awake—or at the very least alive—long enough for the curse to take hold, then maybe he'll have a chance to survive the wound.

At least he hopes that's how it works. More than anything, James wants to live long enough to see his little Savior return safe and sound to her family.

Time passes, even if the King has no way to measure it while he drifts in and out of consciousness, his head full of images of a woman with raven hair and snow-white skin that's holding a crying little girl.

He dances along the line that divides the living from the dead until a pair of lips that he knows better than his own drag him back to the present, filling his heart with joy, even if he doesn't have the strength to return the kiss.

"Oh please, come back to me," Snow begs, her arms cradling his upper body with gentleness, and James longs to comfort her, but before he can rally enough strength to answer her, a mocking voice echoes across the room.

"It's about time you learned that _kisses_ don't solve everything, dear."

If it wasn't for the blood obstructing his throat, James would be gasping in pain when a frightened Snow clutches his body closer to her in an unconscious attempt to protect him from the wrath of her step-mother, the Evil Queen herself, who has just entered the room.

"But don't worry," the witch continues, "in a few moments you won't remember you ever knew him... let alone loved him."

"Why?" Snow asks, giving voice to the question that's bouncing inside James' head. "Why do all of this?"

"Still playing innocent, dear? It doesn't suit you." The Evil Queen circles the room with graceful steps, inspecting the nursery with a critical eye. "But I'm not here to discuss our past, suffice to say that this will be _my_ happy ending. Now... Where is the child?"

"Gone, Your Majesty." The sound drifts from the doorway, and the wounded King recognizes it as the voice of the guard that stabbed him. "They brought her here, to the wardrobe, and then... then she vanished."

"_What?_" The witch's voice has lost its confidence, and for a moment James swears that it sounds a little lost, but it hardens again as soon as she turns to question Snow. "Where is she? What did you do to her?"

"She got away!" Snow exclaims, her face alight with a triumphant grin that James doesn't think he could have matched even without the life-threatening wounds. "You're going to lose, good always wins!"

_That may very well be true, my love_, James offers in the privacy of his mind, his thoughts still dwelling on his baby girl, so young and alone, resting on the bottom of a magical wardrobe as he sends her to a strange, new world. _But... at what cost?_

"Damn you," the witch mutters, fist clenched at her side and her face twisted into a mask of rage. According to Snow, the witch had once been called the 'fairest of them all,' but seeing her now, with a permanent sneer marring her face and framed by the dark clouds of a curse of her own making, James can't think of anyone uglier. "Answer me! Where is she?"

"Somewhere beyond your reach." Snow gloats. "Where you will never be able to touch her."

For a few moments James fears that the witch will not wait for the curse to do the job and instead will choose to kill them here and now, so angry she looks, but after a few, apprehensive seconds all the fury drains from her features, leaving a tired face behind.

"It doesn't matter," the witch says, her voice barely audible over the roaring storm. "Not anymore."

As soon as the words leave her mouth, the dark wind that has been creeping on around them finally manages to breach the windows, sending its magic coursing through the Castle.

"Where are we going?" Snow shouts, a scared look in her eyes as she draws James closer to her body.

"Some place horrible, _absolutely_ horrible." The witch's voice is one with the wind, its master and a part of it at the same time. "A place where the only happy ending will be mine."

The words bounce around James head while the sound of cracking stone fills the air, their beautiful Castle succumbing at last to the dark curse, accompanied by the fluttering of thousand of wings of the creatures that dared to try and outrun the curse.

A horrible world with no happy endings.

That's the world where his daughter will have to live in.

_Oh Emma, please forgive me_. James begs as he finally looses the battle against unconsciousness mere seconds before the wind swallows them all. _It was the only way to give everyone else their best chance too_.

_I was once the most mystical man in all Russia,_

_when the royals betrayed me they made a mistake._

_My curse made each of them pay_

_but one little girl got away..._

* * *

_**A/N: Well, there you go. This will be a slow burn SwanQueen, so don't expect too much interaction between our leading ladies in the first chapters. A big thanks to my beta LiveLoveLikeMe, without her help this would have turned out to be quite a mess, and do let me know what you think: Do you agree with Snow's decision of sending Emma away? Or **__**would **__**you **__**have**__** done something different?**_

_**Next chapter will kicks things into motion when our White Knight stumbles into Storybrooke in:**_****_Welcome to the Jungle._


End file.
